


在這座城市遺失了你 (Where I Lost Us)

by writesinfontuwu



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, I promise you, M/M, Post-Break Up, Yangyang appears as DoRen's child, angst with a somewhat happy ending, endgame: doyoung/renjun, minor doyoung/renjun, r/s tag for DoRen only because they are married, this is a RenHyuck fanfic, this writer has a shitton of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesinfontuwu/pseuds/writesinfontuwu
Summary: “I couldn’t,” Donghyuck admits, looking down to his sneakers. “I couldn’t leave.”//The sunset is beautiful as always, but he knows no sunsets will ever beat the beauty of the boy he loved — loves, if he allows himself — when the sunset reflects on his face and the smiles that come with him.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	在這座城市遺失了你 (Where I Lost Us)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [lovely song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiDZGZMN9wE) and yes, I bring forth Angst again.  
> Also, thank you to Ellie for beta-reading this :) hehe  
> Enjoy :)

_記憶，平常都放在那個抽屜裡。_

_會打開不是為了追憶過往， 是因為看到自己和你，現在，都過的很好。_

_The memories remain locked up in the drawer._

_Unlocking it wasn’t for chasing after the past, instead it’s because I saw that You and I are well now._

———————

All he can hear in his surroundings is either Chinese or Taiwanese, which isn’t anything odd or out of the world since he is currently on holiday in Taiwan.

He is glad to have heeded his friends’ suggestion to spend a day in the Songshan Cultural and Creative Park when he told them of the grand plan to travel to Taiwan. It’s a beautiful place, soaked in the local arts and culture. The way there are street artists, musicians, souvenir shops that scattered across the confined area. A silent, quiet longing settles in his heart. He could see why, so many years ago, the other had begged to travel to this lovely city every time our conversation shifted to holidays and travelling.

He can’t shake the feeling that his friends know his little secret, something he isn’t willing to accept, when they learn about his plans. No one questioned his motives behind the impromptu trip, and no one said anything when they recommended that place. He knows, of course. The lingering meaning behind their words, the unconcealed enthusiasm when he told them over a zoom meeting that he would be in Taiwan for a short trip, the surprised noises that didn’t go unnoticed in the shaky connection of the call.

He is grateful that they have not said anything about his plans and have simply given him the recommendations he asked for.

It is a blessing that he is even enjoying this place, when his mind is racing with memories and old wounds are ripped apart with every step he takes towards the warehouse number four. It’s been years since he stood at the bus stop alone until his mother had come running to find him. It’s been years since he had recovered from the cold he came down with after that night of getting drenched in the rain. It’s been years and yet his heart hasn’t seemed to be healed.

The sun is setting in the distance and he feels the melancholy settles in his bones as he tips his head back and watches the sky recolour in a pretty, warm shade of orange and pink. The sunset is beautiful as always, but he knows no sunsets will ever beat the beauty of the boy he loved — loves, if he allows himself — when the sunset reflects on his face and the smiles that come with him.

The man shakes his head from his thoughts and pulls the beige trench coat tighter around his body. Autumn has arrived and the wind whips cooly against his exposed skin. He doesn’t know if the chill he is feeling is from the wind or the ice in his heart. He doesn’t want to know, not if he knows that either answer would hurt him more. He trudges on until he sees the boards for the exhibition and his pacing splutters to a stop.

He clenches his hands in his trench coat pocket and forces himself to continue walking. It’s silly, he thinks to himself, that he is so engrossed in the silly little promise he made to the other when they were in love and stupid. It’s silly that the promise made him arrive in this foreign land, not knowing how to speak a word, just for the boy he loves. His Chinese had grown rusty after the lack of use. It’s stupid and silly, but he reckons that’s how they had loved, that’s how they had worked.

He doesn’t make it far before someone calls out his name. He turns and sees his friends near the entrance, eyes widen with surprise at his presence and he is quickly pulled into a warm hug. They take turns to squeeze him into an embrace and only one squeezes his shoulder.

“He will be happy to see you here,” the friend says, eyes shining with tears. “He nearly threw a fit on opening night when he realised that you were not here.”

“Yeah, nearly is the keyword here. If Doyoung hadn’t distracted him enough…” the suit up man scoffs at his words.

“Chenle!” the group chides him and turns a worried look at him.

He shakes his head slowly, “I’m okay, Doyoung’s the boyfriend right?” His question receives no response and he continues with a shrug, “Well, I’ll see you guys back in Korea?”

The strawberry blond shrieks, grabbing his arm with a pout. “No way, I’m not waiting for you to drag your ass back to Korea. Before you leave for London, at least.”

“Which is essentially, tomorrow night, Jaemin please,” his boyfriend pulls him away, shaking his head at his actions.

“I miss my best friend okay, screw off if you don’t like it,” the strawberry blond pulls him in for another tight hug.

He pulls away after a while and tells them goodbye, watching them walk away from the exhibition. He feels the nerves pooling in his stomach, the nauseous emotion riling up bile in his throat as he makes his way to the entrance. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he only has a short 3 hour to view the exhibition before it closes for the night. He owes himself, and perhaps the other, this and he might as well get it over.

He marches up and shows the guard his e-ticket and is let into the cooling space. The exhibition takes up a small space in the warehouse, probably one-fifth of the warehouse, and Donghyuck gulps down a lump at the title of the exhibition.

 _Where I Lost Us: from Me to You_.

He takes a deep breath and proceeds on, following the marking on the floor, like a kitten with a ball of yarn, and looks up to the first painting. Tears well up in his eyes as he blinks them away furiously. He mustn’t cry in public, not here, not where he knows the artist behind these works will be lurking. _But you missed him dearly_ , his mind scolds, _you missed him so much._

That he did, the man swallows the whimper crawling up his throat and moves on.

The second painting is that of two boys on a swing. It was raining, the setting was gloomy, but the smiles on the boys were like that of the sun. _“the first time we talked_ ”was the title of the painting and the man closes his eyes, allowing the memories to rip their way out of the box he had kept them in. They were in kindergarten back then, this was after the boy had chased the bullies away and offered him a yellow handkerchief. “You sound lovely, don’t listen to them!” was what you told me back then, the man muses and sniffles once before moving to the third painting.

It is that of a cat and he chuckles at the memory of the stray kitten they had fed on their way home during elementary school. She died one rainy night, and they seeked comfort in each other’s arms, crying in the bed over the loss of a life. “ _First Tears_ ” is the title and the man chuckles to himself. How appropriately titled the art pieces are. The other always had the better naming sense as compared to him.

He moves on.

The next few paintings are beautiful and he recognises some from the past. He has re-created them, obviously, they withhold better lighting and more well developed strokes on them. He misses the old, wonky unpolished ones. He has one hanging on the wall in his room, back in London where he has taken up residence, and he thinks he misses the hands that painted each stroke of paint on the canvas.

Then, he pauses.

It is a painting of a man holding out a red umbrella at the train station. He closes his eyes and bites his lips to stop a whimper from unleashing. The first time he had ever waited for him to go home together when they were in college. It was raining. The other was on his way back from the library without an umbrella and he had ran to the train station, in the storm, just to pick him up. He tears his gaze away from the painting and wills himself to move on, to walk on.

He is unsure how long he had stood before the drawing of the vast sea but the next thing he knew, someone was calling his name. He freezes, effectively booting himself out of his memories, as the voice grows closer. He clenches his hands and unclenches them, mustering a smile, before he turns to the man who had stopped beside him. The other has silver hair now and he thinks he looks ethereal as always.

“Hello,” he greets, eyes wavering with emotions he is sure the man could see and understand, “sorry it took me so long to come to the exhibition.”

“Dong— it’s okay, you’re here now. That’s all it’s going to matter,” the man whispers back like he can’t trust his voice. “Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it. I don’t know if you crossed paths with Chenle and the rest of the gang, they just left a while ago, but I was pretty sure that I just ranted to them that you aren’t going to make it.”

“They told me how you almost kicked up a fuss on opening day?”

The artist scoffs at his sentence, “Of course they would tell you that, assholes.”

“I’m really sorry for taking so long to come for this, work got in the way. Forgive me?”

There is a pause and an unreadable look in the artist’s eyes before a neutral glint takes its place. “Of course, how could I ever not forgive you.”

They stand in silence when he turns his eyes back to the drawing. There is tension in the air, crackling with every breath they took, and he knows that the artist is looking at him. He pretends that he is oblivious until the other sighs and tugs on his sleeve. Even after many years, he was still slightly taller than the artist, relishing in his slight advantage as he peeks down at him.

“Shall I give you a private tour?”

He smiles, a genuine one this time, and shakes his head. “It’s the last day of the exhibition, I’m sure you have many things to do.”

“None too important that I cannot give you a tour of my masterpieces, Donghyuck—”

Well, at least one of them is brave enough.

“—you’re still my muse, my inspiration, the reason why two-thirds of these paintings, drawings, photos exist. You can pretend that I don’t exist, but I can’t do that. Not when you take up so much of my creativity by just being you.”

Donghyuck doesn’t want to cry, he hates crying actually, but at this very instance, he hopes to stamp his feet like a spoiled brat and yell at the artist for saying all those without a care for his feelings. But he won’t, he can’t, he shouldn’t. Not when the other is the braver one. He has always been the braver one.

“You can’t just say that, Renjun,” is all he can muster before the petite artist gives him a tentative smile, and Donghyuck swallows painfully like there are a million needles piercing his throat. “Fine, it better be good.”

The smile he receives from Renjun is probably his favourite art piece in the whole exhibition.

They walk silently, basking in each other’s presence, as they make their way into the exhibition. Renjun explains every painting, and the memories behind them and Donghyuck finds himself relaxing in his presence. He missed his best friend, his lover, his everything, and this gives him the chance to relive the memories before that fateful night. They pause at a drawing of the sakura trees and seven friends sitting under the wide branches and the picnic mat spread out beneath them.

The exhibition remains relatively quiet, its patrons converse in murmurs and whispers, and Donghyuck can hear the loud thumping of his heart. He is about to speak when the silence is broken by a loud shrill cry.

“Baba,” and a bundle of clothes flings himself to Renjun’s legs as the owner of the clothes rambles on in broken Chinese and Korean.

Renjun laughs and steadies the toddler, soothing the hair that sticks out from the run, as he replies to him in a sweet tone. Shock immobilises him when an older man walks towards them, dressed in a casual suit jacket, a plain baby blue tee and jeans, and takes the toddler from Renjun. The look in Renjun eyes tells him everything he needs to know and he feels like he is drowning even when he isn’t anywhere near the sea. Renjun slips an arm around the man and pulls him towards Donghyuck, stopping before him with a smile.

“Have I introduced my husband, Doyoung? And our adopted little devil, Kim Yangyang.”

Donghyuck swallows a cry at the introduction and shakes his head, mustering a smile at the amused man. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says and the child shrieks at his name in Chinese.

“Donghyuck! Baba’s favourite friend!”

Renjun chuckles at the sentence the toddler spurt out and nods, “yes, Yangyang. This is uncle Donghyuck. He is friends with uncle Lele as well.”

“Uh-er!”

Donghyuck melts at the boy, Yangyang is his name, and smiles at the toddler before he gives him a little wave. “Hey, little guy.”

“Uh-er! Yuckie!”

Renjun flushes crimson at the mispronunciation of Donghyuck’s name and Doyoung laughs at his son’s antics before he steals a kiss from Renjun. “I’ll leave you two to catch up, Yangyang is probably hungry already.”

“Oh, is it that late already?” Renjun frowns, stealing a look at his watch and gasps at the time. “Doyoung, I’m sorry…”

“No harm done. You two haven’t met for years, I understand if you want to catch up,” Renjun bites his lips and Doyoung presses another kiss on his forehead. “Renjun, it’s fine. We talked about this, haven’t we?”

“We did, but—”

“If you have something to do, I can complete the exhibition alone,” Donghyuck clears his throat, cutting through Renjun’s dilemma. “Don’t worry about it.”

“—Donghyuck,” Renjun whines at him, changing his sentence midway, lips pouting at his suggestion, “I haven’t _seen_ you for years.”

“And you have a child to feed, don’t be silly Renjun.”

Renjun huffs at his tone and turns to Doyoung who is carrying a half-asleep Yangyang on his chest, and returns a gaze on Donghyuck. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I really wanted to give you a tour. I gave everyone a tour when they came.”

“It’s okay Renjun, things are different now.”

If he hears a squeak of protest from Renjun, he doesn’t say a word. He feels a lingering, light squeeze on his forearm and watches Renjun walk toward Doyoung and Yangyang as they slip into the mass of patrons and disappear. He meets Doyoung’s eyes who just looked confused at his actions and returns to his viewing of the exhibition. With the mind being clouded by whatever just happened and Donghyuck finds himself enjoying the exhibition less.

Every painting and art piece hung against the pristine white walls seems to laugh at him, at his decision years back, and his silly emotions.

_This could be you, the husband of the artist of this exhibition. This could be you, if you weren’t a coward._

Donghyuck stops in his tracks, jumping slightly at the announcement that the exhibition closes in thirty minutes, and looks at the pretty landscape of France, Paris. There was a silhouette in the sun, two cups of half drunk coffee, a couple of cakes, and an opened, unfinished book. The view was not one of the pretty cafes in Paris but of a place more intimate that he had expected — the terrace of the apartment and the table cramped in the small space. “ _New beginnings_ ” the title read and Donghyuck feels a tear roll down his cheeks.

He rubs it away but the floodgates are opened. He sobs at the painting and squats down to bury his face into his arms, rocking on his feet as he whimpers at the painting. He knows what follows this one, he knows it will be filled with love, kindness and care from the older man. Doyoung. It isn’t as if Donghyuck was not aware of anything Renjun has been doing for the past years, his name pops up every now and then in the group chat and he knows he was in Paris for a good five years.

Seeing him blissfully married is odd in a way. Renjun is always free spirited, unbound to anything, a breeze in the hot summer days, a fleeting touch under the sheets. It is shocking to see someone with such unbridled energy and spirit to settle down and even adopt a child with his significant other. The tears have stopped flowing after a while and Donghyuck knows he is a mess in public, but he looks up and manages a smile at the painting that promises boundless love, adoration and fondness.

He stands up, staggering a little as his legs are almost asleep from his squats, and he looks to the right of the painting. That would be the last painting before he had found Doyoung. Donghyuck takes a deep breath and walks over to it. He didn’t spend time on the other paintings, desperate to find the one that starts his new relationship a couple of minutes ago. He stops before it and a sob clogs up his throat, stealing his breath away, choking him up.

There, in the middle of the pretty wooden frame, lies a plane ticket and the bus ticket stub — the airport express, 11 p.m., Tuesday night — and a messily scrawled note that reads “ _Wish you were here with me, it will make me less lonely._ ”

He swallows thickly and holds his breath when he feels the other’s presence. Why has he returned to this place, he should be with his husband, his toddler, his family. Donghyuck screws his eyes shut and he hears the beating of his own heart, the gentle breathing from Renjun.

“The exhibition closes in three— oh, it’s officially over,” Renjun smiles, looking up from his watch to gaze at the framed up artifacts. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave immediately.”

“I couldn’t,” Donghyuck admits, looking down to his sneakers. “I couldn’t leave.”

If anything, the way Renjun breathes noisily through his nose at his response tells him that the other knew the underlying meaning to his words. He doesn’t know if he is upset, angry or disappointed. It feels like he no longer knows what is going on in his best friend’s, his ex-boyfriend’s mind anymore.

They used to know each other so well. One look, one touch, one sound and they would know what the other was thinking of. Two sides of a coin, two kindred spirits. They were soulmates then and yet now, they are about as close as a stranger.

They stand beside each other quietly, each lost in their own thoughts and memories, and Donghyuck feels like he is an entire galaxy away from him. There is an awkward shuffling of coat as he averts his eyes back on the artifacts, bathing in the false sense of tranquility that blankets them. He takes a deep breath and, for once in his life, bravely questions,

“If I had boarded the bus, back then when you offered, what would become of our present?”

Silence. He hears the light laugh from the other, a wet chuckle that sounds ugly to his ears, and he replies shakily,

“Then, I would have one less art piece.”

The response stuns Donghyuck and he lets out a breathy laugh at it. Renjun closes his eyes at the sound and laughs along, turning to meet Donghyuck’s eyes. There were tears in the sun-kissed boy’s eyes and a flash of hurt and pain before melancholy replaces the emotions. They turn back to the exhibit and Renjun pretends that he doesn’t hear the waver in his sobs as tears sparkle under the exhibition lights.

“Congratulations, for the exhibition.”

“Thank you.”

———————

It’s raining. There’s a bus at the bus stop. Two figures — one in the rain, the other on the bus.

“Leave with me?” the boy on the bus asks the other boy.

It was a weak attempt, they both knew. A weak attempt at begging for the other to leave with him. Unshed tears made the bright eyes, full of life and love, sparkle even brighter in the rain. The other kept his silence, eyes falling from his eyes, and stared at the ticket in the boy’s outstretched hands. He turned his head away, looking defiantly at the road ahead. The boy withdrew his hand and choked back a sob, stepping away from the steps in the bus, retreating further into the bus.

“Thank you,” the boy on the bus whispers as the bus door swings close, “for coming tonight.”

As the bus drove off, the boy who had remained at the bus stop burst into a loud wail and sobbed inconsolably on the wet, cold ground. Around him, the rain fell heavier until he could no longer see the rear of the bus.

———————

_而我爱你 而爱无法 撑起_

_想拥有的 想拥抱的_ _以为能通向领悟的结局_

_And I loved you, and yet Love is unable to hold up_

_Whatever we wished to have, we wished to embrace_ _To the ending we thought we could create_

AccuseFive, 在這座城市遺失了你 Where I Lost Us —


End file.
